Dr Wagner: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Lightning
by Of Miracles And Men
Summary: Always a never-quite-canon, almost-there-yet-not-so ship near and dear to my heart, this is a collection of drabbles involving a most underrated couple, Kurt Wagner and Ororo Monroe; with any luck portraying the multi-faceted complexity of the characters and the situations that life throws at them and sprinkling in enough romance and humor to even it out.
1. One Through Four

**One: Beautiful**

It was in the first moment that Kurt saw her in action, in a demonstration, no less, as thunder rolled from her voice and lightning danced from her fingertips, that he understood he had never seen true beauty before. He watched, humbled and awed, almost cowering the way that Neanderthals would in the presence of natural, unstoppable disaster, as she raised her arms to the heavens and with an effortless, graceful gesture that would put the most poised dancer to shame, parted them.

Hands, meager protection against the onslaught of harsh, pelting rain that mercilessly howled upon him, rose to shield his face as he watched the looming threat of heavy, pregnant clouds break. A soft sliver, a sigh of warm, kind sunlight streamed through and only made to widen the vestigial gap that grew and grew as the woman—no, goddess—below that controlled them, continued to bid them to do so.

With said bidding, the rain, if such an understatement could be applied to it when it had nearly threatened to sweep him away and all around him, gradually slowed, the shriek of wind dying to a whisper and the harsh attack of rain grew to a soft mist, and eventually, nothing.

He blinked, finally finding the courage to lower his hands to his sides, and gaped, almost dumbly, as the sounds of nature about him in the large lawn of Professor Xavier's school resumed and a gleaming sun sought to rejuvenate the world below; however, this did nothing to dissuade him from that which had so poignantly, if not dramatically, captured his attention.

If she was flattered by his practically reverential stare, it was not shown on her impassive, yet patient face that awaited his response.

_"Unglaublich," _was the only word that managed to escape him, and although there was no external reaction from her, he wondered if she was secretly basking in the praise that was befitting such a grandiose display of tamed power.

"Thank you, I think," she said, and he watched as her head inclined and brow ever-so-slightly furrowed at the barrier language provided, disrupting the previously uninterrupted beauty of her expression, "Though I'm afraid I'm not acquainted with the word."

"Ah," he acquiesced, searching for a translation, not one to deny her it, "it means…amazing. Incredible. _Beautiful."_

He did not tell her until much later, of course, that he was referring to her.

**Two: Hug**

It was a simple act of intimacy that, although his appearance appeared to speak otherwise, he was well acquainted with, and so sought to initiate with others whenever he found the chance. There were some that he would never attempt to do so with, such as Logan, which would denote immediate death, or others, such as Scott or the Professor, with who he deferred with respect and could not ever hope to breach that gap; not on peril of his life but of the distance which they had created for themselves and so he humbly did cross.

With others, such as Kitty, he would gladly partake in it, ready to bestow one when she required comfort or simply out of the joy circumstances provided her, or for Peter, when the adrenaline had pumped their veins with a rush defused by action but no success in defusing their ecstasy in remaining alive, especially after a harrowing battle.

And then, there was Ororo; with a border between the two of them that was more more suggested than stated, and the simple fear of committing a faux pas that he might unwittingly instigate and thus compel her to reject his advances, innocent as they would be. In this, it was not so much the strictures of society, but the fear of uprooting the precarious balance that their relationship stood upon; too close to be friends yet not lovers; closer than family, yet still not close enough.

The thought haggled and nagged at him as he released Kitty from his embrace after greeting her home for the holidays, and then turned to her chaperone, arms open, and without another moment to rationally consider the repercussions his actions might produce, drew Ororo into a hug.

There was an initial stiffening of limbs, not only from her, but from him as well, as the two of them were introduced to the gesture imposed by him and an awkward, mortifying moment passed that seized his throat as he realized that she did not reciprocate it.

But then, as if it were like the sour wind that passed quickly on the seas, he saw with surprise and overwhelming relief as she relaxed and wrapped her arms around him as he did, holding him to her with a gentle but supportive grip.

"Welcome home, Ororo," he breathlessly, cheekily grinned into her ear as he allowed himself another moment to hold her in his arms before releasing her of his grasp.

"Thank you, Kurt," she smiled beatifically at him as she pulled away with a bemused but grateful expression, "but you know I've only been away for an hour or so."

Ah.

Well, oops.

**Three: Leap**

Alarms whined and shrieked as lights flared with bright, blinding punctuality as he stumbled with an ungainly, crippled gait through the hall. A half-muttered, desperate prayer to the only god he had ever believed in passed his lips as with a gaze incapacitated by an eye swelled up and swollen by a rapidly purpling bruise he searched down the empty hall, eye only set for a doorway that only represented freedom previously denied him. He coughed, a harsh, vindicating noise that erupted blood from his throat and began to dribble down his chin, though he made no move to wipe it away with scraped, ever-so-slightly trembling hands.

The only thing that did not render him in total immobile fear was the fact that he was accompanied by his rescuer, but unfortunately, also his fellow prisoner.

"Come on, Kurt," came Ororo's voice over the shrill blare of the alarms, gentle and encouraging if not mildly strained under the duress of the situation, "we're almost there."

"Oh, good," he managed out in a cruel parody of what would have been a joking manner, "I was almost beginning to get bored."

After a few eternal seconds of pacing that only elicited the most excruciating agony for the two of them did they reach the door that swung open without a thought, revealing the frenzied commotion of outside, as helicopters shuttered through the night and spotlight swung through the cliff and into the murky, frighteningly indefinite waters below, below a desperate overhang that only the most desperate would attempt.

Thankfully, no one was there yet, and over the crashing of waves below, the combination of the alarms, and the shouting of soldiers with pride injured at losing their prey, none heard them as they approached the edge of the wall.

"Mein Gott," Kurt said as he leaned over with the one good eye he was provided, "and you really can't use the winds to help us?"

"No," she said, and he knew how it broke her to say it, "but Scott said that he should have been down there by now with Sean and Logan. They said they'd be able to catch us."

"And if they were unable to break out of the madhouse before we were?"

"Then I shall have to see if I maybe desperation can aid my powers." She replied sleekly.

One quick glance at her also injured body and a recollection of her agonizing screams rendered from merciless torture from a cellblock only a few paces away from his quickly dispelled that lie made to protect her pride and only increased his fear of their possible demise, made no better by the company he was with.

"And I can't 'port. So we'll have to jump." He replied, starkly, weighing the ideas of teleporting blind and jumping blindly and not quite sure which idea was worse.

"I'm sorry," she replied at her inability to do more than apologize, not daring to mention how it tore her apart.

He said nothing, words finally denied him, as the continual howl of the alarm continued its punctual scream, and helped her onto the ledge of the wall as he did himself, the two of them staring down into the dark unknown below, his hand intertwined with her as they gazed below with grim finality.

At least, there was no one else he would rather take the leap of faith with.

**Four: Reflection**

"What do you see when you look in here, Ororo?" Kurt asked, and with a single digit pointed to the glassy, ephemeral surface of the water the fountain provided, rippling with the disruption the wind provided as it ghosted by. In the surface, of course, was their reflection, superimposing their movement as she stared at it, humoring his musings for the moment, and then capturing the fluidity as she turned from it to him, running a tender hand through his hair.

"I see us."

"But do you see anything else?" he asked, gesturing to it once more, and she arched an eyebrow at his prompt to colloquy and her desire not to be baited by it.

"I see a pesky existentialist who wishes to irritate his companion." She replied placidly, face serene until it was betrayed by her smirk as she looked to his gaze that met hers in the reflection.

"Ouch," he replied, moving a hand to rub the back of his neck in sheepish embarrassment. "Cut to the quick so soon, eh?"

"Too soon in my opinion." She replied with a smile, but her statement and his chagrin were quickly rebuffed by her following statement as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Well, Mr. Wagner, what do _you_ see when you look in the reflection?"

After a moment of silent contemplation as he surveyed it, hand rubbing his chin most thoughtfully in an attempt to milk the moment for everything he could (and of course knowing him, she knew that he was), gazing thoughtfully to the world about him and a most introspective 'hmmm' tickling his lips, did he surmise a conclusion.

"Well, Ms. Monroe, I see a wonderful if not harsh-tongued woman," he said, turning to her with a grin that would not be suppressed as she arched an eyebrow once more to him, "and a man lucky enough to be in her presence."

"Flatterer," was the only word she could reply to him with as she walked away from the fountain with a casual roll of her eyes to the heavens, waiting for him to join her. Only after a moment of staring at the furry blue expression that mirrored his, rippling as his tail darted in and disrupted the pattern of continuous, undisturbed water did he turn away to follow.


	2. Five Through Eight

**Five: Child **

"Who is she?" Kurt muttered into her ear as he sauntered into the debriefing room following the command from Scott to reconvene there; staring openly at the half-circle of fellow mutants that had formed around the young woman that had so vividly captured their attention as she spoke with a composed air barely communicating the stress she was under.

"A messenger from the future," Ororo riposted to him in a mere whisper, bowing her head to ensure that the noise of the conversation would be preserved between the two of them and no one else, "with usual dread tidings due to repercussions of our mistakes."

"Ach. We seem to be getting those a lot frequently." he replied with a jovial nature that belied the speaker; though as the moment passed, he turned to closely inspect her, yellow eyes narrowing to slits as his scrutiny increased under the faint perception of familiarity that struck him as he continued to stare at her.

"...it is imperative that you rally your forces in accordance with the attack that occurs on March 13th..." she continued, and he noticed an inflection well-known to him, yet from where he could not place; he watched as the young woman bowed her head, short powder-white hair falling to reveal ears, dubbed a faded midnight-blue as the rest of her skin was, ever-so-slightly pointed, "...or else there shall be little for me to return to when I leave."

_Blue. Pointed ears like me… _he silently counted the similarities as the gears in his mind continued to turn, inexorably advancing towards an inescapable culmination.

"But how will we be able to gather them all in time?" Scott interjected into the conversation, and Kurt narrowed his eyes at the interruption which had also disrupted his train of thought and the conclusion he felt near approaching.

_"Verdammt."_ he cursed under his breath, and Ororo turned to him, concern and confusion amalgamating upon her expression. "Kurt?"

"Nein, nein, it's nothing," he waved her comment away and continued to stare, ignoring the woman's words as he appraised her appearance, only to lean close to Ororo and inquire further. "Who did they say this child was again?"

"She only said she was from the future; anything else and you'd have to ask Scott." was the reply provided him by his companion, and he _tsk_ed impatiently at the infuriating lack of evidence, continuing to evaluate the young woman as her gaze swept through the cluster of people captured by her speech. It was in this moment that he managed to hold gazes with her, if but for the briefest of instants, and see a pair of dazzling blue eyes that he was all-too-used to admiring with the passing of the days and months, and blinked as something clicked.

Wordlessly, Kurt turned to Ororo, away from the speaker, to gawk at her with the sudden comprehension that dawned upon him and watched her turn to him with more apprehension than the awareness he currently possessed, giving him the chance to appreciate the blue eyes that all-but-perfectly matched those of the messenger from the future.

"Kurt, are you sure you're all right?" she frowned in disquiet consternation for her companion who currently seemed to be losing an already precarious grip on reality, and she watched, unease rising, as he nodded soundlessly with a joy that would not be denied, before finding the quiet, suppressed breath to murmur back an answer.

"Ja," he quietly replied as he turned back to the future, "I'm perfect."

**Six: Faith **

"Do you think we'll survive?" Ororo asked him, a long time ago, revealing her unspoken fears to him as the world flew past them in a blur of motion, undisturbed within the hold of the streamlined plane they currently resided upon.

"Ja," he replied, solemnly, and she turned to him with mild surprise at his firm sincerity.

"What makes you so sure?"

He shrugged, at once dismissive but defensive, she assumed at possible dismissal, and his gaze did not meet hers although she sensed that were she more familiar with him and he her, he would have held it. "A matter of faith. I believe God will protect me, and all of us."

She listened with an impassive face to a belief that was not hers, but still chose to respect it. "I see. You are..." she frowned at the lack of the word denied her; in her years of isolation as a proclaimed goddess amongst the Kenyan savannah, it was little wonder that she was not acquainted with other religions; even now the transition from deity to plain folks was a little jarring at times.

"Catholic," he supplied with a wry smile, and she wondered at the secrecy that belied his innocently polite grin if he was more aware of her situation that she had previously expected, though that thought became disrupted as he rolled up the sleeve of his uniform to reveal a rosary snaked about his wrist, with an iron-wrought cross linked with red beads worn by the passage of time; small enough to be concealed by the uniform and not intrusive enough to hinder him in action. "This is my rosary."

"It's beautiful." she stated, admiring the contrast between the blood-red beads and his dark blue skin, and she looked up to him to see him dart away his gaze from her. Had he been admiring her while she admired his adornments? "But I do not understand how this could protect you."

"It is linked to my faith. Each bead represents a prayer that I make to God," he elaborated, "and each prayer becomes an offering that I ask God to make to protect me and my companions in my journeys, which hopefully contributes to our better chance of survival."

He shrugged again, a fluid bob of the shoulders. "It's not so much the presence of the rosary but the symbolism it carries, to connect us to God and remind us that he is always with us. I...suppose my explanation is not the best, but it's my interpretation of it."

"No, that was fine," she reassured him, and was about to continue to say something to further the discussion before there was a sudden jolt that came with the impact of arrival and the plane shuddered, putting their conversation on hold.

"Thanks," he replied before turning to leave and the pausing, looking to Ororo, patiently waiting for her to join his side, and upon her doing so, went to rejoin with the rest of the group.

And as she walked with him she wondered if she would ever be able to speak of something so faithfully, but for now, resting it on the shoulders of herself, and unknowingly, her companion as well.

**Seven: Freedom **

On many levels were they not free.

On the level of basest bigotry were they restrained by genetics; for the status that marked them as mutants made them instantly pariahs.

In some neighborhoods Ororo had to hold hands with him as he wore a thick-brimmed hat and a suffocating scarf around his neck to conceal the blue shades of skin and pointed ears that she thought of as beautiful but he only knew as ostracizing, also, to hide the fangs that threatened to pierce skin and render flesh asunder, though never under any circumstance would he bare them. Sometimes a thick coat was necessary to restrain the tail that grew from the base of his spine, as many an onlooker would see it and shriek, quoting the prayers which he would fondly recite every night before slumber; how much could he take of his religion being spat back in his face before he denied it from him altogether?

Many looked and never did anymore than that; so until people could see him and not flinch at the sight of him, he was not free.

Occasionally could he find an escape through a holographic transmitter, in order to look more human and assume lighter hues, to become normal, accepted; but then it would be Ororo's turn to be reminded of her 'societal shortcomings'; namely, being black, a prejudice that ran much, much deeper than the ones Kurt bore. As she would hold Kurt's hand as they walked through the streets, would they hear a racial slur muttered at her as she purchased a ticket for a movie; would she hear it implied as service was passed up for someone of lighter hues that had been accepted into society long before she, would she hear it in the silent, judgmental stares of those she passed in the park with him as they regarded her and wordlessly, callously rejected her.

And although she possessed an unshakable pride, often could he see that it still took a toll on her; for though he could sometimes escape, she could not, and such a thing to behold especially of by one so close could be a great burden, and mark of great shame.

He knew, and she knew they were not free; they knew that they would never be until the day that the two of them could walk hand in hand down a sidewalk without being judged by those around them for their external appearances that was inexorably beyond their control, hoping for the day that they could be smiled at like a regular, ordinary couple (although the two of them rejoiced in the fact that they were not and might possibly never be).

Until then.

**Eight: Failure  
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"Goddess," Ororo said as she paused in the doorway to his bedroom, "what in the world happened here?"

Kurt looked up, shamefaced from his latest experiment, and offered her an uncomfortable grin as she surveyed the room in all of its spasmodic colorful glory thanks to the countless amounts of vivid, brilliant sheaths of paper that lay, tossed and folded in incomprehensible forms about the floor, layering the surface of his bed, and encompassing where he sat, cross-legged and staring up at her.

"Ahh..." he sighed, demoralized, and regarded the room as she did, holding a half-folded rich mauve leaf in his hand before tossing it to the ground and watching as it fluttered away, "consider it a crushing failure."

She listened as she took a cautious step into the room, careful not to crumple any of the vibrant papers, and took into her hand a paper that had been folded into a shape that vaguely resembled something, tickling at the back of her mind. "What are they?"

"Kitty said she wanted someone to make them for her birthday party tonight-they're called origami, Logan knew a little bit about them-you fold pretty paper and make a shape out of them, an animal, a t-shirt, a person. Sometimes they're good luck charms, or they're just decorations."

"And...would this be an animal?" she inquired politely, proposing a discombobulated form of chartreuse paper, and she watched his shoulders slump and his head bow in indignity.

"A crane. It was the first thing I found," he turned, searching, brushing away the radiant papers to search for a particular one, though how he could be expected to produce one from the many there was beyond her, and when he returned empty-handed he decided to only provide an explanation. "They were instructions I found online. They seemed simple enough, but well, just look at the room."

Ororo did so, and admired the many individual constructions peppered about the room that somewhat resembled that of their aviary cousin, before turning back to him. "And, ah, have you tried any other shapes?"

"Well," he said, producing another unrecognizable form, "this was supposed to be a fish."

"The likeness is extraordinary," she lied, fighting to suppress the smile that struggled its way onto her face, though she maintained a civil even tone and a blank expression in order to preserve what remained of his pride.

"Yes, I thought so myself," he brightened visibly as he appreciated the unidentifiable attempt at aquatic life, "I think it's much better than the cranes."

"Indeed," she sagely replied, "you wouldn't care for any help, would you?"

"Oh, I would welcome it, madam." he smiled, the melodramatic sorrow gone from his eyes as he offered her a small stack of intensely dazzling paper. "Give me a moment to find the instructions, and then we can make some more fish in time for the birthday party..."

As he continued to ramble and converse with more himself than her while he searched for the rubric, she allowed the smile, unbidden, to spread across her face, and, as she searched through the papers for one to her preference, a soft laugh to escape her as the two of them began a way to redeem Kurt from his previously irrevocable failure.


	3. Nine Through Twelve

**Nine: Stay**

She woke up with the pause of breath in her throat, eyes blinking away the ghosts of dreams and searching for the vestige of light that was muffled by the presence of curtains over the window; in the dimness of the room she could see his form, reclined on his stomach, contemplating of philosophy and existentialism beyond her comprehension in the mere seconds after such a jostled return from slumber.

"Sleep well?" he asked, and she heard the rustle of sheets that intervened in the hush of the room and he turned over on his side to look at her with eyes radiant in the dark; like lanterns that dared through the darkness, warm and comforting. He extended a hand to brush away the strands of hair that tumbled over her face and restored the to curve around her cheekbones, framing her face and the way he looked at her would have made her shrink into her pillow and flush were she a simpler, shyer woman; it was reverential, awed, like a deaf man hearing music for the first time in his life.

"You are beautiful," he informed her; there was no room for rebuttal, only acceptance; acceptance that he offered to her. She watched, wordlessly, as his figure, swathed in shadow, neared, and she felt the soft press of lips to her forehead, reaffirming his presence to her and of the bond forged between the two of them.

"Kurt," was the only word that she managed out; had she been more alert it _would_ have been low and needy, but alleviated by sleep it came out as a whisper, a monosyllabic command for his continued residence there, with her, in the soundless shade of her room. "Stay with me."

"Your wish is my command," was his only response, followed by a breathy chuckle in her ear, and she reached out with searching, seeking hands for him, to hold him, to know that if she fell asleep again, he would remain, unlike the haunting clarity of the past.

"All right," he promised, holding her to him, and she could hear the good humor in his voice, reassuring her the way he would to a child, "I will."

"Good," she firmly asserted into the silence that prompted her reply and eliciting another chuckle from him that gave him cause to press another kiss to her forehead.

_I'll stay. _

**Ten: Company  
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He had stared wordlessly from the window of the mansion as the rain had continued to pour, drizzling down the glass panes and distorting the vision of the world outside; the lawn drenched from the deluge, grass bowed below it and the leaves of the trees trembling with each gale that swept past it, in one of nature's brief spells of rejuvenation.

It was here as he continued to watch and admire from a safe distance (for one knew Nightcrawlers such as he were allergic to all kinds of wet, and rain was definitely included on that list) that he saw her, standing in the distance of the yard. Had he known better he would have said she were waiting, and yet the rigidity of her stance spoke otherwise, merely denoting her existence and nothing more; she chose to be, but she chose to do nothing else.

She chose to be alone; but as he turned away from the tear-streaked window, he could not help but wonder if that was truly necessary; with a prompt crack of brimstone and a cloud of opaque smoke he teleported down the hall to retrieve something.

Outside, Ororo stood, water streaming down her face and coursing down her clothes, plastering hair to her face and fabric to her skin. She looked out to the world disrupted by the rain that scoured and cleaned and the rhythm of the raindrops that pelted and pattered, a quiet musicality of the earth that she instigated, yet remained detached from it.

An eruption of brimstone smoke birthed itself next to her, and she turned, the surprise of teleportation lost with the continual presence of Kurt, and she looked as he emerged from it and her posture, stiff and stolid before his arrival, relaxed.

"Hello," she said, and it was without a smile but not unkind and took notice of the addition to his person. "Why'd you bring the umbrella?"

"It's raining out." was his simple reply, "but you're out here."

"I like the rain. I don't need an umbrella for it." was her simple answer, and he nodded, appreciating the simplicity of the honest answer as the rain pelted the top of his umbrella.

"I do." he replied, unabashed, and a smile quirked up her lips though it was chased away by his following statement. "But I thought for someone standing out there in the rain by themselves with such a hard expression on her face, maybe I could compromise, if but to accompany them."

The silence that was disrupted only by the continuing whisper of rain resumed, and Kurt looked up to the iron gray sky above them, cogitating on the possible lack of tact in his bold expression, thankfully repudiated by her following statement.

"Thank you, Kurt."

From the corner of his eye, for turning to fully regard her would have been blatantly impolite of him, he saw a hand, rich ebony, reach for his, midnight blue, and gently clasp it within hers.

"My lady," he said, as the two of them looked out to admire the remainder of the deluge, one protected by the shelter of an umbrella and the other exposed to the caress of the earth, "it is my pleasure."

**Eleven: Help**

"I must admit, I did not foresee..." she sighed, pausing for the words that would not come, "...it was unexpected, to say the least."

The sounds of war erupted all around them, but Kurt Wagner was deaf to them as he rested her head in his lap, holding a cold, trembling hand within his own; struggling for the composure that was still denied him even as he watched the life creep away from his companion's face.

"Ororo, just listen to the sound of my voice. Please-everything will be all right, liebe," he begged, desperately pleading not only to her but the consuming, looming pace of time, and it was a farcical attempt to comfort and an even more pathetic attempt at prayer. "You just need to hold on for a little while longer, help is coming."

"I have said those words enough times to others, Kurt..." and at this he noticed the silent stream of a tear that trailed down her face and the slightest tremble in her lip, "to know that help always comes too little...too late."

"Ororo Monroe, I need your tenacity for just a few more minutes," Kurt began, but was interrupted with a low, throaty chuckle from her, punctuated by the shrill cry of battle not far off.

"If only, my dear." she winced as a spasm of pain over took her body and her free hand, quivering and stained with blood, though whether it was hers or someone else's none knew, and cupped his cheek before lowering it to his shoulder, to anchor her to reality in the last moments that she was able to.

"Kurt, you and I both know I only have a little bit of time...left," she said, ignoring his sharp, grieving rebuttal at such a statement (even now the color, the blush of life was leaving her face, and it was a horrifying transition; when had her hand grown so cold in his?), "And there are many things I regret that I have never done."

"You will have time to do them, Ororo," he sobbed, bowing his head to her and to whatever god would listen, and she continued on, "and I will not have one of them being that you will never know how I truly feel for you, my love."

She met his gaze, hers calm in the face of the storm and his blurred by tears in the face of despair, and she squeezed his hand oncefor finality. "Kurt Wagner...I will always—"

Her grip drew slack as bright blue eyes were lost to him forever as they closed for one last time, and he watched, as time almost seemed to draw to a halt, as he saw her hand fall from his and bounce once on the ground, fingers splayed open to the winds.

It was as Kurt's hand, shivering not from the cold, cupped her face and he felt how icy it was to his, that he truly felt the weight of the world that had come crashing down upon him and looked to the heavens.

The scream he released as the war continued around him was indescribable.

**Twelve: Away  
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"I think," he groaned as the two of them trudged away, more limping than walking, from the smouldering remnants of the burning warehouse towards the hills, "that we need a vacation."

"A vacation would be most welcome," she replied as she glanced back at their handiwork, short gasps interspersed with her words as shoulders heaved with breath previously unpermitted in her system; the last dregs of adrenaline were depleting in her system and now there was only the biting sensation of reality that settled in, for they had barely made it out with their lives.

"I'd like that. But we'd have to go somewhere," he continued, a stolid model of support as Ororo leaned on him to regain her balance and nurse a cut that she discovered on her arm, bold and bright with blood, "where the weather is mild. The humidity is not good for my fur and I tend to look like a irritated blue cat."

"So basically how you looked after Kitty pushed you-"-she allowed a deep rejuvenating breath of air-"-after Kitty pushed you into the pool?"

"Ah, how fondly we remember my tragedies," he groaned in chagrin, and the two of them jumped in surprise as the fire reached the land-line and a resounding explosion shook them to their core; once more did they turn back to look at the flames that belched dark, stagnating smoke into the inky twilight sky, blotting out the moon and the stars.

"Oh, but you control the weather," he recalled with a broad smile and a snap of his fingers as they turned away to walk once more ("Very astute, Mr. Wagner,"), "so it really doesn't matter where we go; all I have to do is ask you and then it's smooth sailing."

They collapsed in a heap on the slope of a knoll in tangled limbs and shallow breath while idle hands grasped cool blades of grass, their green color burning red whilst reflecting the heat of the inferno a running distance away.

He sighed, a mournful, wistful noise as he stared up to the sky and watch it become consumed by the wall of smoke. "Where do _you_ want to go, Ms. Monroe?"

The answer was instantaneous, practiced, and rolled off her tongue on command. "I want to go to Cairo, or Kenya; to go to the lowland savannahs and feel the breeze in my hair."

"There's a breeze right now," Kurt dryly said as said breeze ghosted by with the acrid scent of dust and smoke, and Ororo tilted her head up fix a scowl upon him to which he coughed out a wheezing laugh.

"A breeze that does not asphyxiate me," she amended her previous statement. "I want to go _home."_ The longing in her statement was unquestionable.

He sighed again, the breath expelled from his lungs. "Perhaps that can be arranged."

The crack and eventual boom of another explosion made the ground shudder, while the blaze climbed up to consume the sky as they sat back and watched, their mind wandering to faraway destinations.


End file.
